Italy. An interesting, infuriating place to live as a gin-raddled expat. Some notes and observations.
Maybe whoever was going to shoot him/her got stuck in the traffic somewhere.
Maybe somebody had just read Edgar Allan Poe's 'Premature Burial'.
Oh, Mr Combo! Never mind the enigma of the funeral....I have blown this photo up and have it on my bedroom wall! It was the lovely Mr Dudley who started me off on this: look carefully, he said, and you will see the man behind the camera. And there you are - well, your right arm and leg anyway. Much younger than naughty Mr Ashley and, well, really quite hunky! Standing in a nice position (I expect Mr Savage taught you how to do that), relaxed and ready for action; were you perhaps in the commandos? I’m so pleased that you were not wearing shorts and sandals like so many ghastly teachers do these days, but do hope I’ll get to see the rest of you soon.
Camilla, I think I may have to take my lens cap off and shoot you. From the front, from behind, all sorts of interesting angles.
You're so right Camilla. He must have known he would appear in the photo, because he's holding his tummy in.
Ron - I thought you would have known - this is a common method (exported from Poonah traditions in South America) of pointing out to you, the reader, that, no matter how crap you feel, it isn't yet your time - blessed release from this world is tantalisingly close, but denied you a while longer. Your punishment is not over, the torture continues - "oh why did I take my camera to that wedding in Calabria ...". The day the sign comes down - beware.
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